Precious Moments
by Jesma
Summary: Garrus/FemShep angst involving an Asari prostitute on Omega while Shep is assumed dead. Between ME1 & ME2.


Set on Omega between ME1 & ME2. Disclaimer: I don't own these characters blah blah blah, this story contains pr0n so be old enough to read it without being scarred for life plx thx etc. Of course if the star of this story is any proof, chicks do dig scars...

Afterlife is by no means Garrus' preferred place to be, but then again he could say the same thing about all of Omega, a filthy space station tucked out at the ass end of the galaxy, a den of mercenaries and black market dealers. A place without law. Wealthy crime lords hold the station in a stranglehold while the citizenry – a destitute mix of ex-mercs, colonial refugees, fugitives, and the unlucky few born into this hellhole – exist in a near-constant state of fear. Some of them came to Omega to escape oppression, to carve out a bit of freedom for themselves in the galaxy. But instead of taxes you pay the Blood Pack not to murder you in your own home. Pistols are wielded like law books. 'Opportunity' isn't a chance at a better life, it's a chance to get off the station for a brief flash of violence before an inevitable bloody end. Garrus likes it.

Not because he's happy to observe so many millions consumed by this depraved existence, but because it fills him with righteous rage. He's sitting in a booth in Afterlife, one of the dirtiest ones, tucked into a dark corner. Barely two meters away he can hear the moaning duet of two shadowed figures in a frantic race to climax, stealing away for a torrid and desperate fuck that will leave them just as empty and unfulfilled as when it started, but for those few moments at least…. He stares through the bottom of his glass, the briefest flickers of uncertainty, maybe even fear, crossing his steely façade. The table is filthy, tinted green from the noxious liquid.

For those few moments…

He remembers that in those precious moments, when the haze creeps into his mind and fire flows through his veins, he gets to be with _her_. And it all makes sense when she's around - disappearing, Omega, the team, the hunting, the killing – All of the chaos he drowns himself in every day. Trying to fix Omega would be like trying to remove all of the black pigment from grey paint, but when she tells him how proud she is of him, how much better he made someone's life today, how many innocents he protected, it all makes sense. He might be fighting a losing battle, an overglorified vigilante in a kingdom of pure scum, be she makes him feel like an Archangel.

But only in those few moments.

The woman's moans grow strained and short, more like gasping whimpers, and she comes with a shuddering groan that Garrus can almost _feel_. He raises the glass to his lips and tips it down his throat. It's cold and hot at the same time, and releases a vapor that fills his head with cleansing fire. He pours another and repeats the gesture. The deep thrum of the music resonates inside his chest and pierces through him. He rides the vibrations like waves, relishing the fuzz that begins to blur the dark corners of his mind. The couple in the booth next to him is leaving. They're human. She adjusts her skirt and the neon lights of the club dance across yellow hair. He imagines what it would feel like to drag his talons through that hair, to grab a fist of it, pull her close and breathe deep. But he wouldn't smell her, he would smell Shepard. See Shepard. Feel the soft warmth of her throat against his cool plates and the sweet vibrations of her easy laugh washing over him.

A figure darkens his view, and he's shaken from his daydream - an Asari, young by their standards, curvy, her skin a delicate lavender, and clad in the Afterlife 'entertainer' uniform of a skin tight leotard cut away to reveal all but the most sensual of places. "Care for some company, soldier boy?"

Lemira, his contact. She's been feeding him information for weeks on secret meetings taking place in Afterlife's back rooms. Meetings about him. His team. About the mysterious _Archangel._ Of course, she doesn't know that – He's just an interested party. One with cash. Her voice is sultry, and sweet. Full of promises of pleasure and heartbreak. From an interior jacket pocket he produces a credit chit and sets it on the table with a soft click. A nearby bouncer sees and thinks nothing of it – just another weary merc paying for the pleasing company of a pleasing woman. Lemira palms the chit and slides into the booth beside him, immediately pressing as close to him as she can, her arm draping over his shoulder as her fingers pluck gently at the tips of his fringe.

He turns into her half-embrace, nuzzling beneath her chin at the soft skin on her neck. She takes his head in her hand and holds him close. "They've identified one of Archangel's men. They think they can extract the location of their base from him," Lemira says in low tones. She lifts his chin towards her and plants a warm kiss on the soft skin behind his right mandible. The heat of her breath is a stark contrast to the chill her words send through him. He doesn't let his fear show, doesn't let it blow his 'cover' as just another horny john in a seedy club on a dirty space station at the ass end of the galaxy. He slides his hands down Lemira's smooth exposed sides and plants them on her hips, pulling her until she turns and straddles him.

"Who's the guy?" Garrus responds, gently mouthing the ridges creeping up the sides and back of her neck as he waits for her to answer.

She lets out a soft moan – did he make her do that, or was it all just part of the show? She turns and licks a line from the back of his mandible to the pointy tip, biting at it gently with blunt teeth. "They didn't say, I'm sorry." As if to show him how sorry, she chooses that exact moment to grind her pelvis lasciviously against his, and despite his distaste for the whole situation he can't hide his arousal pressing back against her. Reaching around her he grabs at the bottle of vile green liquid, skipping the glass entirely and pouring a stream down his throat. Some dribbles down his chin; Lemira licks it off.

"Did they say anything else?" Garrus prods, fingering the edges of her delicate and scant garment with one hand, the other still curled around the bottle.

"Only that grabbing the guy would tip Archangel off, and they'd have to be more subtle." She nearly whispers this, her torso pressed fully against him, grinding against his obvious erection. Garrus is thoughtful for a moment, then thanks Lemira and gently lifts her off of him. She knows she's earned her pay – for the information. However, there are appearances to keep up, and she'll have to earn the other half of the credits on that chit – the half Aria gets a piece of for 'furnishing' such lovely companions. She fixes Garrus with a lusty gaze and runs her hand from his shoulder, down his chest and thigh to his knee, which she gently squeezes before lowering herself down beneath the table to kneel between his feet.

Deft hands undo hidden clasps and soft, hot lips envelope sensitive exposed hide. Garrus leans back, a throaty sigh escaping his lips. He takes another pull from the bottle in his hand, willing the shadows to overtake him.

_She's pretty, Garrus._

_Sure. For an Asari._

His arm aches where Shepard would have playfully punched him.

_Don't lie. I know you want her._

_I wouldn't lie, Shepard. All I want is you. All I ever want is you._

_And blowjobs?_

_What?_

_Blowjobs. _

As if on queue Lemira suddenly presses her mouth further down on him, taking nearly his full length deep into her throat, eliciting a gasping moan from Garrus. His faceplates subtly arrange into a contented turian smile.

_From you?_

_No, I'll sit in the corner and watch while some Asari hooker blows you under the table._ The ghost pain returns to his arm. _Of course from me._

_Shepard, the only thing I'd enjoy more is returning the favor. You know, however that works with females… humans… you know what I mean._

He doesn't hear Shepard speak anymore, but her face fills his mind, and she's smiling. He can hear her laughter everywhere, permeating the room, but it's ghostlike and echoing. The table melts away and she's at his feet, looking up at him, her arm wrapped around his leg and her cheek pressed against the inside of a plated thigh. The dingy club is gone, replaced by white drapes and blinding sunlight. Sunlight that reflects off her shining yellow hair as red lips envelope him.

_Shepard…_

He lowers both hands, stroking the golden strands with blunted talons. He makes fists, relishing the way her hair feels like cool silken thread slipping through rough scaled hands. She dances her fingertips across the tender hide on his stomach and sucks him with increased force.

_Shepard…_

He wraps her hair tighter around his fingers, hips rocking up to meet her. Her tongue presses hard into the sensitive grooves of his sex, massaging across them as her fist pumps at his length. She looks up at him with sparkling cerulean eyes, a pink flush across her cheeks, the sun shining in her hair, and it undoes him.

"Shepard!" He exclaims, his orgasm claiming his last remnants of self-control. The white room, bathed in sunlight explodes in a bright flash behind his eyes as unrelenting pleasure rips through every cell of his body. With every ragged exhale the brightness fades to black, and when he opens his eyes he's back in Afterlife, in a dirty, dark booth, a lavender-skinned Asari kneeling at his feet with a questioning look. He untangles his claws from a now-shredded tablecloth. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. He ignores the unvoiced question and helps her back to a seated position, gives her an approving nod and waits for her to leave.

_She's still pretty, Garrus._

_She's not you, Shepard._

_And all you want is me._

Garrus finds the bottle, opens it and takes another drink.

_All I'll ever want is you, Shepard. Even if it's just for these few, precious moments._


End file.
